


Pearl and Silver

by n0xx



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gay Sex, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Passion, Post-Battle, Self Confidence Issues, Sibling Incest, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 06:16:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11030346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/n0xx/pseuds/n0xx
Summary: Boromir recalls the things he misses most about home.





	Pearl and Silver

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Lord of the Rings or any related characters.

_“…I would see the glory of Gondor restored. Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?”_

_As Boromir sat confessing his desperate desires to bring fame to Gondor, he silently recalled the things he missed most about home. There were many, but it was the thought of his brother that made his heart ache the most._

He vividly recalled their last encounter; the two brothers had just reclaimed the city of Osgiliath for their people. For Gondor! The joy of the moment had been extinguished quickly, thanks to their father, Denethor, and soon after Boromir had received the news that he would be traveling to Rivendell. To be chosen for such a journey was an honor, to be sure, but the thought of being torn away from home troubled him. 

Later that evening, he’d stumbled into Faramir’s chambers rather distraught and slightly intoxicated. He had clearly enjoyed the celebration and taken advantage of every congratulatory pint that was handed to him. Faramir, meanwhile, had excused himself early in an attempt to escape their father’s scolding. It was exhausting, constantly being a scapegoat and a source of shame for his family. He’d long ago abandoned any hopes of regaining his father’s respect. 

“Brother,” Faramir greeted him with a slight laugh. “You reek of ale.” Nevertheless, he invited him into his room and locked the door behind them. It wasn’t unusual for the older man to find comfort in his younger brother and Faramir felt comforted by their meetings as well. The bond between them had grown stronger than anyone might’ve suspected. 

But Boromir didn’t seem to be in a humorous mood and didn’t acknowledge his brother’s lighthearted comment. “Forgive me,” he blurted out, leaning back against the heavy wooden door of the room. The look on his face was one of utter guilt and shame. 

“What ever for?” Faramir asked him seriously, unsure of where this request had come from. It wasn’t unlike Boromir to completely shed his outer shell around the younger son of Denethor, but often his concerns were seemingly unfounded. The Captain was known by many as a noble, confident, and skilled warrior, but Faramir often saw a completely different side of him that often seemed frightened and insecure. 

“Forgive me, brother,” Boromir repeated, drawing in a ragged breath. He looked to be on the verge of tears. “For not defending you. For letting _him_ beat you down. For always leaving.” Without warning, he sunk to his knees in front of his brother and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders trembled with quiet tears. 

“That’s enough.” Faramir stooped down to grab his brother’s shoulders and pull him to his feet. It was difficult hoisting up over six feet of hulking muscle and armor, but he managed. He brushed Boromir’s hands away from his face and stared seriously into eyes that mirrored his own. “There is _nothing_ to forgive, my King. Let this be a night to look back on in fondness, not sorrow. You will return again soon.” He reached out to wipe the tears from his brother’s face, then leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Boromir’s in a soft kiss.

“You are too good to me,” Boromir murmured before returning the kiss. 

The younger man was silent as he removed his brother’s armor, piece by piece. It was a gentle, loving gesture that he did meticulously, in a way that suggested he had done it many, many times before. Each plate, glove and piece of chainmail was placed in an orderly fashion on a large armchair in the corner of the room. Eventually Boromir was standing before him in just his trousers and boots, his sculpted chest and an abdomen exposed. It harbored many scars from battle and was still slick with sweat from the day he’d had. He smelled like alcohol and his own musky brand of sweat, which Faramir had always loved. 

Faramir hooked a finger in the waistband of his brother’s trousers and pulled him away from the door, towards several basins of warm of water. He dipped a clean cloth into one of the glass bowls and smiled softly at Boromir as he ran the cloth across his brother’s forehead and face. Blood, sweat, and tears all dissolved with each wipe. After rinsing the cloth, he resumed washing his brother: a most intimate and loving display. 

When Faramir sunk to his knees in front of the other man and began unlacing the other man’s trousers, Boromir placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to stop him, “I don’t deserve your affections.” But Faramir brushed his hand away; sometimes the easiest way to get Boromir past his insecurities was with actions, not words. He removed the leather lace from the last grommet and the elder Gondorian’s half erect member was immediately released. 

The look in Faramir’s eyes was of sheer admiration as he worked the slacks the rest of the way off and ran his hands up his brother’s legs. He loved the way Boromir’s physique told the story of his life; he was strong and weathered, not to mention covered with an ample amount of dark hair. Boromir, Son of Denethor, was all things masculine. It made his heart swell to be so near him. 

Despite this not being their first time together, Boromir still gasped at the sensation of his Faramir’s lips around his quickly hardening member. “ _Brother_ ,” he breathed, his voice barely audible. It was a miracle his knees hadn’t given out from beneath him. 

“My King,” Faramir murmured when he pulled away momentarily, then ran his tongue up the underside of his length. 

Lust overwhelmed Boromir and he grabbed his brother by the collar, pulling him to his feet. “Come with me,” he growled, kissing him roughly before directing him to the large bed at the other end of the room. 

Faramir complied. 

He always did. 

He loved his brother. 

Boromir pushed him onto the bed and feverishly began removing his clothing in a fashion much the opposite of Faramir’s considerate technique. Tunic, undershirt, and trousers quickly found their way to the floor and Boromir was on top of his brother, trailing rough kisses down his neck and chest.

“You are divine,” Boromir told his brother as he explored the other man with his calloused hands. He spent the rest of the evening worshipping the younger Gondorian and left the White City before anyone woke. 

_”I have seen the White City, long ago,” Aragorn finally told him._

_“One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guard shall take up the call: ‘The Lords of Gondor have returned.’”_

 _But somehow, in his heart, Boromir knew he wouldn’t be returning._


End file.
